ROYAL'S CHILD Page 3

  He wondered absently if they'd found her body yet. His pulse accelerated as he remembered how easily the flesh beneath her chin had parted under the blade of his knife. Like hot butter. He shifted his stance and giggled just a little, not because he was happy, but because it had been so easy.

  He thought of his little house on the outskirts of Chicago and wondered what the boys in the neighborhood were doing. This was Saturday. Tonight they'd be gathering at the local bar, watching TV and laying bets, like whether or not Jimmy Riordan could chugalug six raw eggs in his beer without throwing up. They always bet on something. For Tommy Boy, it was what made life worth living.

  Then his smile faded as he remembered what he'd set out to do. There would be time later for playing. After he was finished.

  It never occurred to him to wonder when he might stop or how many dead women would be enough to assuage his anger over his father's death. All he knew was that his pain lessened with each slice of his knife.

  Suddenly he straightened and pulled his cap tight across his forehead, shading his eyes from the blast of midday sun.

  There. Just getting out of that old gray van. He saw her wave. He heard her laugh. He watched them drive away, leaving her standing alone in the parking lot. He watched her shift her duffel bag to her shoulder and start toward the restaurant. His pulse quickened. She was young, maybe mid-twenties. Her clothes were faded. Her legs were long. Her breasts… His breath caught at the back of his throat as he watched them bounce with the sway of her stride. His eyes narrowed. She looked Indian, maybe Mexican. He couldn't tell for sure, but there was all that soft-looking, warm brown skin, and enough black hair to strangle a man with. Resisting the urge to rub himself, he continued to watch her. It wasn't often that a whore excited him. Usually he felt nothing but disgust. His stare lengthened.

  Yes. This was the kind of woman who'd tempted his father. This was a woman who could lead a man to his death with little more than a smile. When she disappeared into the restaurant, he smoothed a hand over the button fly of his jeans and started after her.

  * * *

  Angel was tired from the inside out. She'd been on the road for more than two days. It had been years since she'd done anything as foolish as hitchhiking, and although she'd started out apprehensively, so far her rides had been on the up-and-up. She glanced at the small sign near the restaurant door.

  Bus Stop.

  Lord, but what she wouldn't give for the money to travel in style. Not that bus travel was all that stylish, but from the backseat of a stranger's van, it was looking better all the time.

  She rubbed her palm over the outside of her duffel bag, imagining she could feel the small stash of money secreted in the bottom. Her feet ached and her forehead felt hot. She hoped she wasn't coming down with something. She couldn't be sick. Not like this. Not without a place to call home.

  A blast of cool air hit her as she entered the restaurant and she paused in the doorway, letting her eyes adjust in the dim interior. It didn't take long to see that she'd have to wait. There wasn't a seat available. With a sigh, she headed for the ladies' room to freshen up. Maybe when she got back, some of the places would have cleared.

  Her stomach growled to protest being empty. The scent of food and hot coffee almost did her in, but she kept walking. She didn't see the man who came in behind her, and even if she had, she would have paid him little mind.

  But Tommy Boy Watson saw her as she disappeared into the ladies' room. He cast a quick glance around and slid onto a vacated stool at the counter. From where he was sitting, he had a perfect view of the ladies' room door. A cold smile tilted the corners of his lips.

  Go ahead and wash your pretty face, bitch. I can wait.

  Angel leaned toward the mirror over the sink and stared at her reflection. Her scalp itched, and her skin was sticky with sweat and the dust of the road. She closed her eyes and let her chin drop toward her chest in disgust. She felt dirty from the inside out. All she'd ever wanted in this life was a place to belong, and here she was in her mid-twenties, on the road and still looking for rainbows. She turned on the water, letting it run hard between her fingers before leaning down and sluicing the dust from her face.

  She turned off the water and reached for a paper towel. As she did, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror again, and this time almost didn't recognize herself. With water dripping from her eyes and face, she looked as if she'd been crying. It was a foreign thought. Angel Rojas didn't cry. Not anymore. The lack of expression on her face was frightening.

  "God," she muttered. "Where have I gone?"

  Then she shrugged off the thought and dried her face. There was no room in her life for regrets. Her belly growled again as she picked up her bag. Her feet were dragging as she walked into the restaurant. She found a seat and was soon immersed in reading the menu.

  Tommy Boy was staring. He knew, like he knew his own name, that this woman was one who needed cleansing. He took a sip of coffee, picturing his father lying in this woman's arms, then picturing his father as he'd laid in his coffin. When he focused again, his face was filled with rage. Disease. Disease. They all spread disease.

  "Want a refill, honey?"

  He looked up. Startled by the waitress's intrusion, he glared. Realizing he had time to pass, he nodded.

  He glanced at the woman in the booth again, watching her facial expressions as she studied the menu. When he heard the low murmur of her voice as she gave a waitress her order, his gaze snagged on the muscles working in her throat. And when she tilted a glass of water to her lips and drank, it was all he could do to wait. He had it planned. He knew just what he was going to say. It would be easy. After all, getting them into his truck was simple. They were bodies for hire. All he had to do was promise to pay for services rendered.

  * * *

  Angel stepped out of the restaurant and into the afternoon sunshine, wincing as the glare burned her weary eyes. She dropped her duffel bag and knelt beside it, digging in a side pocket for the sunglasses she'd put there last night.

  "Hey, baby, did you lose something?"

  Startled by the unexpected sound of a stranger's voice, she rocked on her heels and looked up. She had a moment's impression of long, greasy hair, a thin, straggly beard and eyes the color of a frog's belly. Her stomach knotted as she stood, but she refused to show fear. Instead, she slid her sunglasses up her nose, shouldered her bag and stared him straight in the face, taking momentary comfort in the anonymity.

  "No, I didn't lose a thing."

  The man grinned. "Just asking," he drawled. "Say, baby, I'm in the mood to party. How about it?"

  The food she'd just eaten threatened to come up. "No," she said brusquely and turned away. To her shock, he grabbed her by the arm.

  "Listen here," he said, running his hand up and down her arm. "I've got plenty of everything a pretty thing like you might need … including money."

  It was impossible for Angel to misinterpret his intentions. His tone was suggestive, as was the way he smoothed his hand over his fly.

  For Angel, it was shades of Fat Louie all over again. Her voice was full of anger as she yanked her arm out of his grasp.

  "I've never been that hard up. Now get lost, mister, before I really get mad."

  Tommy Boy was stunned. He hadn't expected a rebuff. The others had been all too willing to take some of his money. His lips narrowed angrily as he watched her stride away. It occurred to him that maybe he'd made a mistake, that maybe she wasn't a whore, after all. But a couple of minutes later, he watched her crawling into the cab of an eighteen-wheeler. He knew truckers weren't supposed to pick up hitchhikers. In his mind, the only reason that trucker had hauled her into his cab was to get a piece of tail.

  "Damn her to hell and back," he muttered, and pivoted angrily.

  By the time he got to his truck, he was in a blind rage. He gunned the engine, leaving a long black trail of rubber on the pavement behind him as he spun out of the parking lot and into the northbound
lanes of Interstate 35, the opposite direction from the woman and the trucker. His head was pounding and his hands were shaking. The farther he drove, the more his head hurt. Sunlight bounced off the hood of his truck and into his eyes. He grabbed sunglasses from the dash and shoved them in place, cursing with every breath. Slowly, he became aware of a nagging little voice inside his head.

  Go back. Go back.

  He shook his head like a dog shedding water and focused on the highway traffic.

  You let her get away. You promised to avenge me.

  The familiar cadence of that voice gave him a chill. His father was dead. But it was still somehow Claude Watson's voice he heard.

  Stop her. Have to stop her before it's too late.

  Tommy Boy slammed on the brakes and made a sudden left on the interstate. Huge clumps of dirt and grass flew into the air as the tires on his truck tore through the center median. He bounced into the southbound lanes, barely avoiding a crash. Cars spun out of control, and a delivery truck full of bottled water skidded off the interstate and into the ditch to avoid a collision. Adrenaline rocketed into his system as he stuck his arm out the window and flipped off the cars behind him. Within seconds, he was out of sight, driving as fast as his black truck would go, desperate to find the whore who was getting away.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  Royal stood on the back porch, nursing a cup of coffee and planning his day. Sunrise had come and gone, and the day was bathed in light. Except for a couple of fading jet trails, the Texas sky was cloudless. He squinted against the glare of sun as he gazed east.

  In the pasture next to the corral, the old cow he'd put there last week was bawling to be fed. He took another sip of coffee, contemplating the wisdom of hauling her off. It had been two years since she'd had a calf, her teeth were worn almost to the gums, and she had a monotonous tendency to jump fences. Then he grinned and discarded the notion. He admired an aggressive spirit, even in an animal, and he'd be damned before he sold her. She'd borne more than her share of calves over the years. So what if her fruitful days were over. She deserved a better ending than winding up in a can of dog food.

  A door banged somewhere in the house behind him, and his attention shifted. Maddie must be awake. When the screen door squeaked behind him, he stifled a grin. One of Maddie's favorite pastimes was to sneak up on him. He braced himself for a great big boo. It never came.

  He turned. Maddie was on her knees, cradling Flea Bit in her arms. Royal sighed. There would be cat hair all over her clean pajamas.

  "Morning, sweetheart," he said softly, and set his cup on the porch rail. He knelt and lifted the kitten out of her lap and her into his arms. When she snuggled her nose against the curve of his neck, his heart tugged painfully. Even now, knowing that she was perfectly cured, he still hadn't recovered from the fear of almost losing her.

  "You're awfully quiet this morning," he said. "Are you okay?"

  Maddie nodded and wrapped her arms tightly around her daddy's neck.

  "I had a dream."

  Royal hugged her. "I'm sorry, baby. Did it scare you?"

  "No."

  "Then how did it make you feel?" he asked.

  She hesitated, as if considering the question, then finally answered.

  "Sad."

  His frown deepened. "Want to tell me about it?" he asked. He sat in the porch swing and settled her in his lap.

  She shrugged.

  He let the question ride. In the past few weeks, he was coming to realize that Maddie was almost as hardheaded as he was. Instead of talking, they just rocked. The squeak of the chains from which the porch swing hung was persistent. But instead of an irritation, it was a comforting sound.

  A light breeze had come up a short while ago and now it was slipping around the corner of the house, lifting the ends of Maddie's hair and cooling the heat of her warm little body as she cuddled against him. Royal glanced at the dark tangles they had yet to brush, then at the upturned nose she'd inherited from a mother she would never know. An emotion swelled within him, pushing up through his chest and tightening the muscles in his throat until it brought tears to his eyes. He jerked his head upward and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply to push back the feelings. Damn it to hell, but life just wasn't fair. Maddie was growing up, and the woman who would have rejoiced in it most was dead and buried.

  Inside the house, the phone began to ring. And for Maddie, the sound was like magic. She came to life, bouncing off Royal's lap and heading for the door before he could even get out of the swing.

  "I'll get it!" she shrieked. The door slammed to punctuate her announcement.

  Royal grinned and got up to go inside. At least some things were back to normal.

  * * *

  In spite of the fact that the trucker Angel had accepted a ride with was well over six feet tall and pushing three hundred pounds, she felt safe. A priest had once told her the best way to judge character was to look in a person's eyes. When Angel had looked into the trucker's face, she hadn't seen a worn-out version of Grizzly Adams on uppers. She'd seen a friendly smile below a black handlebar mustache and warm brown eyes twinkling at her as he offered her a hand up in the cab.

  "Where you headin', missy?" the trucker had asked.

  "Where are you going?" Angel countered.

  "South," the trucker said.

  "That'll do," Angel drawled.

  He laughed, and when Angel slammed the door shut, he began shifting gears. The big rig began to pick up speed. The farther they got from that parking lot, the better Angel began to feel. Even though the man who'd accosted her had only touched her arm, she'd known instant fear.

  As the miles added up, she began to relax, although she kept glancing nervously in the rearview mirrors. She'd seen the man get in a new black truck, and although she knew it was silly to think he would follow, every time she saw a dark vehicle behind them, she tensed until she was sure it wasn't him.

  "Lookin' for someone?" the big trucker asked.

  Angel shook her head.

  The man's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, although he gave her a smile.

  "If you got trouble, missy, you'd best leave it behind you. That's what I always say."

  With one last glance in the rearview mirror, she nodded.

  "It is."

  "That's good. That's good. Now then, we've got ourselves a decision to make. I'm pushing all the way to Houston tonight. You a mind to go that far?"

  Angel blinked. Getting lost in a city that size wasn't what she had in mind, especially when she was still trying to find herself.

  "No, I guess not," she said, although she was reluctant to give up the ride. "Just drop me off at the first convenient spot."

  "What's your destination?" he asked.

  "I thought maybe I'd try something on the outskirts of Dallas, around Arlington. It's summer. Maybe I can get work at Six Rags."

  The trucker nodded. "Yeah, theme parks are the thing during vacation time, all right. You ought to do just fine."

  A few moments later he pulled over. He pointed across her line of vision toward the west.

  "See that highway off to your right?"

  She turned and looked.

  "Stay on that and it'll take you straight into Arlington."

  Angel grabbed her duffel bag and paused at the open door. "Thanks, mister."

  The trucker's gaze quickly swept over the young woman, eyeing her feminine curves and old clothes. He knew what hard up looked like. He also knew what it felt like. His conscience kicked in as she began climbing down from the cab.

  "Hey, missy."

  Angel looked up.

  "Hitchhiking is dangerous business."

  She shrugged. "It's also cheap."

  He laughed. "There's that, all right. Well then, be on your way, and Godspeed."

  Angel watched until he was no longer in sight, then began making her way across the median to the other side of the highway. She glanced at her watch and was surprised t
o see she'd been riding with the man for almost an hour and had never asked his name. She saw a truck stop about a quarter of a mile ahead, and started walking. Her mind was on bathrooms and cold water and big, greasy hamburgers. For the time being, the pale, skinny man was forgotten.

  * * *

  Tommy Boy was sweating. The persistent whine in his head was eating into his nerves.

  You let her get away. You promised to avenge me and you let her get away.

  Tommy Boy's face was pale, and the pupils of his small, close-set eyes were fixed and staring. Every time he came to a crossroads on the highway, the knot in his belly gave another sharp tug. There were a dozen different highways the trucker could have taken. Without knowing his destination, he had no way of guessing where they had gone. But guilt rode him hard, and he kept on driving, stopping only to empty his bladder or fill up his fuel tank.

  Once he spotted the back end of a rig like the one the trucker had been driving. Same company. Same color of trailer. He'd driven like a man possessed to catch up, only to find that he'd been chasing the wrong driver. Seeing the thin, bony face of a redheaded man behind the wheel had brought him to the point of tears. He'd eased off the gas and taken the first exit ramp off the highway, desperate to control his emotions. Moments later he was on the shoulder of the road, fighting the urge to throw up.

  Time passed, and Tommy Boy was barely aware of the traffic. Finally he looked up. His mind was blank, his body, trembling. But the worst was over. To his everlasting relief, the voice had disappeared.

  "Hell," he muttered as he started the engine. "What's one hooker? There's a dozen out there to take her place."

  Having stated the facts as he saw them, he pulled onto the highway. Half an hour later, he realized the truck coming toward him on the other side of the road was the one he'd been chasing for nearly a day. When he saw the driver and that dark, bushy beard, he hit the steering wheel with the flat of his hand and laughed. The echo of his laughter was still with him when he realized the trucker was riding solo. Even though he knew the woman could be lying down in the sleeper, his instincts told him different. Somewhere along the highway, the trucker had dropped her off. Tommy Boy sneered. It figured. She was out there now, looking for another man to snare, another victim to infect.